


Wrapped Up in a Bow

by kingbooooo



Series: The Naked British Baker Trio [3]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Established Relationship, James sends out naughty holiday cards prove me wrong, James' delightful backside, M/M, My Favorite Things is NOT a Christmas carol, PWP, The True Meaning of Christmas, fretting over presents, going on santa's naughty list, nobody is grumpy because it's christmas, penguin courtship rituals, should you really be putting a ribbon around that, some extremely light bondage (and I do mean light it's like five minutes tops), the present...is me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21908797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingbooooo/pseuds/kingbooooo
Summary: Francis looked up, James sauntering back over, his body all lean lines.“Go ahead,” he said.  “Unwrap me.”- - -James, Francis, and some lovely red velvet ribbon.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Series: The Naked British Baker Trio [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578076
Comments: 12
Kudos: 78





	Wrapped Up in a Bow

“James, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked, smirking.

They’d been having such a lovely Christmas Eve. James had dragged Francis out for some last-minute shopping, which would have been fine except that James would shoo him out of stores and then pout when Francis wandered down the block a bit.

“How come you’re not doing any shopping?” James asked.

“Got your gift ages ago.”

James squinted.

“Maybe if you weren’t so damned difficult to shop for,” he grumbled.

They’d stumbled on some carolers while out. James had wanted to keep shopping, but Francis had stayed, James finally conceding, wrapping an arm around Francis’ waist and humming carols the whole way home. It had started to snow about the same time as James’ phone dinged.

“Good work, Dundy,” he mumbled.

“Dundy?” Francis bristled at the mention of James’ ex. 

“Oh keep your hair on. He owes me a favor. More like five, actually. And I intend to collect.” James paused, turning to Francis. “What?”

Francis was frowning. He hadn’t intended to have such a reaction, but he couldn’t help it. He’d met the man at a party once.

“Henry Le Vesconte. You must be Francis.” He’d grinned rakishly, winking, Francis noting unhappily Dundy’s fashionable silver hair, his easy smile, his fine aristocratic features. The encounter had left Francis feeling very plain and unsophisticated.

“Francis.” James rounded on him. “I love you. You know that, right? Dundy is very pretty, but he’s about as smart as a box of hammers and he’s an absolute twat. Besides. He was a selfish lover. Nothing like you. His legs are just,” James made a noise of dismissal, “and I’d like nothing more than to drown in your thighs. Preferably this evening.” He bent in, nibbling along the shell of Francis’ ear. “He’s going to stop by about six. And then we’ll see where the evening takes us, won’t we?”

\- - -

James loved Christmas. He loved the decorations and the music and the tree and the baking. He _loved_ the baking. And he loved Francis.

But damn if finding Francis the right present wasn’t a riddle he was always trying to solve.

Oh, Francis liked James’ gifts, or at least he acted like he did, and Francis generally wasn’t inclined to hide his feelings. Still didn’t make it any easier.

Their first Christmas they had said no presents. Did either of them comply with that? Of course not. James had agonized for weeks, finally settling on an expensive pocket watch. 

Francis’ eyes had gone wide, inspecting the watch.

“I don’t, I didn’t-”

“James, it’s beautiful.”

Francis didn’t take the watch out except for special occasions. If a vest was laid out for an evening event, the watch would be worn too.

He’d gotten James a dark blue velvet suit jacket, and he’d gotten it tailored. It fit very well, double-vented with pick stitching and a single button closure. It hadn’t been cheap. When Francis’ pocket watch came out, so did the velvet jacket.

James had wracked his brains this year, finally texting Sophia.

_Go look in his library. He really likes old books._

_I know that! And it’s our library,_ he’d texted back.

_Oooh touchy! 😉 Well. He had some book that he prized, something on early magnetism studies? Way out of print. You know he’s mad about you, though. You could get him a wind-up monkey with cymbals and he’d smile and say “look what clever James got me!” Now what do I have to do to get a tin of Christmas biscuits?_

Unfortunately, the only person he knew who would be of any help with rare books was Dundy. If he ever answered James’ texts, that is.

\- - -

“What are you doing?” Francis asked again. James was wearing an extremely flimsy green robe, silk, he guessed, held closed with a red ribbon. It definitely looked like something that was marketed for women, given that the hemline was very high on James. Dundy had come and gone, James being extremely vague about the reason.

“Part of your present.” James swung his hips back and forth, the fabric clinging to his thighs.

Francis reached out, James smacking his hand away.

“Some present. Are you going to let me unwrap it or what?”

James winked, walking over to the fireplace, bending over to turn on the gas, the silk riding up over James’ pert backside. He appeared to be completely naked underneath the robe.

Francis’ eyes roamed up James’ legs, lean, strong, his calves muscular, up to his thighs, to the spot where his arse met his legs, rounding out to a pleasing plumpness.

“Take your clothes off, Francis.”

Francis’ eyes finally focused on James’ face, one lock of hair across James’ forehead.

“Go on then. Your arms aren’t broken.”

The jumper was up over his chest, tossed onto the recliner, a hideous Christmas pattern that James had gotten him for a party. Francis had started wearing it out, James groaning and booing in his general direction when it emerged from the dresser, threatening to incinerate it. Francis stood, unbuckling his belt, pants falling down around his ankles. He looked down for a moment to carefully step out of his trousers and underthings so that he didn’t trip. He’d done that once, falling and banging his chin, cutting their planned evening activities short so that James could bandage him up.

Francis looked up, James sauntering back over, his body all lean lines.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Unwrap me.”

\- - -

Francis, starting to soften a bit around the middle. Francis, freckly and hefty. Francis, with large muscular thighs was so unapologetic about what he looked like, both clothed and naked.

James liked what he looked like most of the time, but bouts of self-doubt would crop up at rather inconvenient moments. Dundy had once called him a twig, after James had nearly fucked him into the earth’s crust. He’d probably meant it as a complement, but it hadn’t felt like one.

He knew, logically, that he should find his self-worth within, but the way Francis looked at him, _oof_ , it made him feel like the most radiant creature in the world.

Francis was already smirking, tugging at the ribbon closure, the robe coming open. The silk slid down his shoulders, a whisper of cloth sending goosebumps up his arms.

“Oh good, I was worried there would be more layers,” Francis said, his eyes roving down to where James’ nakedness was on display. The robe slipped to the floor.

“What’s that?” Francis asked.

James bit his lip, smiling and holding up his arms, twisting his wrists back and forth, red ribbons around each one.

“These?” He stepped in, pushing Francis back to the couch, into a seated position. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

\- - -

He let James push him back onto the sofa, sitting down hard. He’d put a blanket down, to keep the cat hair off the furniture. How fortuitous.

“Hrm. Too bright.” James walked over to the lights, his skin nearly aglow, the ribbons stark against his wrists, his hair dark and flowing. Francis’ eyes traced back down to the dip of James’ back, the scars, the way his broad shoulders narrowed down to his hips, and those legs that just went on and on and on and wouldn’t have stopped except for the inconvenience of feet.

The lights dimmed and then went off entirely, the room lit only by the fire and the lights from the tree. And then James was clambering onto him, knees on either side of Francis’ thighs. 

“I love the way you look at me,” he murmured. “And the way you touch me. And that noise you make when I do that thing with my tongue. Do you like that?” James’ hands slid up Francis’ arms, over his shoulders, the soft fabric of the ribbon an unexpected sensation.

“Very much. I love everything about you.”

James chewed on his lip. Francis had once thought he might tire of James’ coy act, but he hadn’t, and he wasn’t entirely sure it was an act. Brash, flashy James could be so shy around Francis, as though he didn’t think he deserved Francis. Francis had also thought he might tire of proving James wrong. He never did.

Hands, warm and elegant were up to his cheeks, cupping them, James giving him a searching look.

“I do hope you like your present,” he said, bending in to brush noses with Francis, Francis sliding his hands up James’ thighs, cupping that lovely arse, his cock coming to full attention.

“You want to know what the ribbons are for?” he said softly, his lips millimeters from Francis’.

“Tease.”

James kissed him lightly. He sat back, biting one end of the ribbon on his left wrist and pulling slowly until it came undone, the gesture smooth and slow. _Always putting on a show, aren’t we, James?_

“Your hands, sir. Like this.” James held his wrists crossed, Francis complying. “I’ve no doubt you could get out if you needed, given your impressive strength, but should you like to be freed, hm.” James was looping the ribbon around Francis’ wrists, his eyes sparkling. “Where did we go on that overnight trip? The one where we got stuck on a boat for twelve hours?”

“Greenhithe and it was three. We didn’t get stuck, you just thought the tour went on too long.”

“It did go on too long. I thought I was going to die of some Victorian ailment. Rickets. Scurvy. Anyway, speak the word, and,” James tied a bow, pulling it snug, “I’ll let you out.”

With that, he bent in and kissed Francis, open-mouthed, hands pawing at Francis’ chest.

James was always full of surprises.

\- - -

Did Francis know how enticing he looked, wrists all bound up? James had no doubt he could rip free, his cock growing harder at the thought, imagining the sound of the ribbon tearing.

He bent in, kissing Francis again, feeling how Francis’ arms flexed, wanting to hold James close, but restrained. Francis tended to kiss like a man drowning, James slowing the movement of his lips. He loved to kiss Francis, and now he was in control. It was exhilarating.

James broke away, Francis flushed pink, the color deepening as James ran a thumb along Francis’ lower lip. He kissed him again, biting gently at Francis’ lip, Francis making that hitching breathing noise, that slight catch that drove James wild. He had to resist the urge to take Francis in hand and get him off, or rut his hardness against Francis until he came all over that broad stomach.

The angle was a bit awkward, what with Francis’ arms tied, but James advanced on his chest anyway, bending in to run his tongue around Francis’ nipple, sucking until he heard that noise again, deepening into a groan. He switched to the other side, focusing on how Francis felt under him, the softness of his skin there, the heat, the rise and fall of his chest.

“J-James…” he breathed out.

A kiss was placed to the middle of Francis’ broad chest before James slid down off the couch, careful of his own prick, rock-hard already. He came to rest between Francis’ legs, pushing them apart.

“And the other,” he said, holding up his right wrist, repeating the gesture with the biting and tugging. The bow opened, Francis’ eyes following every movement.

“What, my ankles? Will you truss me up like a Christmas goose?”

“Not quite.” He grinned impishly. “Arms up.”

James took the ribbon in both hands, wrapping it carefully around Francis’ fat cock, right below the head, the color near the same as the ribbon.

“James,” Francis warned.

“I’ll be careful. I’m not going to cut your circulation off.” He gently ran the ribbon back and forth, Francis groaning and shifting at the sensation. “I practiced on myself, you know. Different ribbon.”

“Of course you did.”

“Do you like it? Does it feel good?”

“Not as good as your mouth, but yes.”

\- - -

Francis had to hold his wrists to his stomach and crane his head forward so he could admire James at work, James on his knees, James eyeing his cock as though it was water for a man dying of thirst.

It did feel good, if a bit strange. The ribbon wasn’t some cheap, dime-store piece of plastic. It was cloth, velvet, with gilt edging along the sides. 

Francis was positive he was going to ruin it.

And now James was…he was tying it in a bow.

“James, what the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m rather taken with how your cock looks all done up.” James had bitten his bottom lip in concentration, smiling at his handiwork. He sat up on his knees, leaning in to tongue the tip of Francis’ cock where precome had beaded.

“Well, now that you’ve done me up in ribbon, what next? Bows on my nipples?”

“Oh don’t tempt me, Francis.” James’ hand was on his cock, squeezing, sliding the bow up and down slowly, Francis arcing under his touch, his wrists flexing against the velvet bindings. He felt James’ warm mouth envelop the head of his cock, teasing, always teasing, his hand still working him as well. A tightness settled into his core, Francis’ breath growing more ragged. He was very close to complete incoherency. 

“As much as I enjoy being bound like…”

“A brown paper package tied up with string?” James asked.

“You know that’s not a real Christmas carol.”

“I disagree.”

“You would. But…Greenhithe.”

James grinned, sitting up, his teeth on the ribbon, pulling it open.

“Better?”

Francis reached a hand down, his finger tracing James’ upper lip.

“Much.”

\- - -

Now that Francis wasn’t all tied up, James could admire his expression unencumbered by his arms as he licked at the underside of Francis’ cock. The bow around it was coming loose, the ribbon near destroyed. If it wasn’t now, it soon would be.

His hair was in his eyes. He’d been meaning to go in for a trim but hadn’t had a chance with the holidays. Fingers were brushing it back from his forehead. James knew how much Francis liked to watch him, how much James liked being watched.

He took him deeper. Francis’ cock was just far too much to be allowed, really. James breathed in through his nose, taking more of that spectacular prick into his mouth, deep, deeper, his lips up against the ribbon, the knot nearly undone entirely.

Hands were threading into his hair, fisting it gently, pulling him off, James letting Francis’ cock drag his lip down as it slid from his mouth, his head tugged backwards. He loved when Francis played with his hair, his scalp tingling, his head shifting into Francis’ touch as he sighed contentedly. Francis’ fingers were gathering his hair carefully, something wrapping around it.

The other ribbon. Francis was tying his hair back.

“There,” he said, pulling it taut and looping, he guessed, the ends into a bow. “Now you won’t get hair in your eyes.”

“So thoughtful, Francis. And you’ve got a tail to pull on should you want to direct me one way or the other.” He renewed his efforts before Francis had the chance to response with any smart remark, listen for that breathy little sigh. The pink flush was creeping down Francis in large splotches, the noises coming more quickly, clearly close to finishing. James yanked, perhaps a touch too hard, at that blasted ribbon around Francis’ cock, tossing it aside.

“Nearly there, James,” came the warning.

\- - -

James always looked pretty, but with his mouth wrapped around Francis’ cock, his hair pulled back, a ruddy color settling high on his cheeks, he was the picture of obscene loveliness.

Francis was dangerously close, impending release roiling in him, his toes curling into the carpet, his thighs clenching, panting like a runner. And James was doing that thing with his tongue, wrenching such sighs and groans from Francis.

He pulled James off again. “Almost.” James’ mouth back on him as he felt his eyes roll up, his desire, molten and untamed came crashing down, Francis’ hips bucking up as he came, James’ name spilling off his lips repeatedly. If his soul could leave his body, it certainly would have, many times over, due, entirely, to James Fitzjames.

He hoped James liked his present, he thought idly, trying to focus on something other than how James had demolished him, every time. James groused that Francis was hard to shop for, as though James was any easier. Oh, he could get him a cooking gadget, or a nice accessory. But James was worth more than that.

For James’ birthday, the first one after they started dating, Francis had spent an afternoon banging his head against a wall trying to come up with the perfect gift. He’d taken James to the zoo the week before to see the penguins. James was strangely drawn to them.

“They remind me of you. Cute. Hardy. Look good in formalwear, and they’re perfectly adapted to their environment. We should all be so lucky to find where we belong, shouldn’t we?”

James had been a little puzzled when he’d opened the box, finding a small polished stone inside.

“Care to explain?” he said, holding it up.

Francis shuffled his feet, staring very hard at a spot on the wall behind James.

“Erm. You remember. From the exhibit. Some species of penguins give their, er, mate a pebble. And I thought, maybe after your lease is up-”

There hadn’t been much more comments on penguins on that particular day.

Francis’ eyes landed on the mantle, the rock sitting next to a framed photo of them from their wedding. How was he expected to get this man anything resembling a good present? It really was unjust.

He looked down. James had done an admirable job cleaning up.

“My turn,” Francis rumbled.

\- - -

James was on his back, looking up at the ceiling. _Typical._

Francis had recovered enough to half-carry, half-bundle James over to the fire, on top of that very plush carpet. The ribbon holding his hair back had come undone, and his hair was going to be a right mess, Francis down on his elbows between James’ legs, taking him in deep, no easy feat, James thought smirking. One hand was on James’ hip, squeezing, Francis’ fingers drumming along the hipbone, an uneven rhythm that fortunately stopped James from immediately spending in Francis’ mouth.

He wanted to arch and struggle, but Francis wouldn’t let him beyond the small squirming movements he could accomplish. Francis had taken one of James’ hands, put it on the back of his own head, and pushed down gently, encouraging James to guide him on. James didn’t wish to overwhelm Francis, but fuck, it was so damn sexy, the little gasps, the profane sounds Francis made as James pushed his head down onto him.

Francis’ free hand reached up, James taking it, their fingers lacing together, Francis’ sure grasp anchoring James who was near enough to flying over the edge, his cock aching. Firelight washed over them, making their skin a lovely warm pale shade, the tree’s electric lights twinkling behind Francis.

“Francis,” James got out, nearly too late as his urgency, hot and near painful crested and crashed over him, his legs tensing, burning, clenching involuntarily as he groaned loudly, leaving him feeling weak and boneless. He lay there, catching his breath for several moments, vaguely aware of Francis wrapping him up in a blanket before leading him to bed.

\- - -

“James, did you have to send out holiday cards with a picture of your ass on them?”

Francis was curled on one end of the couch, admiring James on the other side, Christmas having arrived with little fanfare, but loads of snow. The card in question had been a photo of James from the back, wearing a Santa hat, the cleft of his ass peaking out the top of very loud red and green boxer briefs.

“Your mother approved. She texted me a peach emoji.”

“You WHAT? That was just for friends! Wait, why is my mother texting you?”

James smirked at Francis. “She said something about how you must be a very lucky man.”

“Jesus Christ, James.”

“He is the reason for the season! Now, do you want your present or not? And no, that little escapade last night wasn’t the present. Not the real one, anyway.” James had found one of the ribbons, not the one that had gotten tossed in the bin, and was tangling his fingers in it. He handed Francis a small brown parcel.

Francis tore the paper open. It was a book. Not just any book. _In Search of Magnetic North_ by John Henry Lefroy.

“How did you-” Francis marveled at it. Second edition, and in good shape.

“You mentioned it in passing when we were consolidating our libraries. Something about Ross taking it when he left for Antarctica. Dundy did find a first edition, but it was in terrible shape and I would have had to sell a kidney. He did say he’d take those Italian leather boots I have as a down payment, but I’d rather eat them then see him wearing them.” James sniffed. “Do you like it?”

Francis smiled. James was always paying attention, even when Francis thought he wasn’t. 

“I love it. Ross kept saying he was going to ship it back and then he stopped responding to my emails. Thank you, James, feels as though my collection is complete again. Here.” He held out a small gift bag.

“Oh…” James pulled out the scarf, a royal purple color. “You spoil me, you know that, right?” Francis had gotten in the habit of bringing James a wrap whenever he was out of town on business, James wearing them until they near fell apart.

“That’s not all.”

James scrabbled around in the bag, coming up with a business card. He held it up, squinting at it.

“Sophia knows a literary agent. I called her last week, she’s interested in your blog. Specifically in publishing a cookbook. You have a meeting with her in two weeks.”

“Francis.”

“I know, it’s a lot, and I can cancel if it’s too soon, but you keep making noises about it and I though if I didn’t follow up on this, maybe the opportunity would pass us by-”

He looked up. James was blinking back tears.

“Did I, I’m sorry, I-”

“No, you dolt, this is the best damn present anyone has ever gotten me. You really think I can get a book published?”

“If there’s anyone who could, it’s you.”

James crawled over from his end of the couch, wrapping his arms around Francis.

“You do realize you won’t be able to send out cards with your delicious backside on them if you get published.”

“Spoilsport.” His voice was muffled in the front of Francis’ robe. “Happy Christmas, Francis.”

“Happy Christmas, James. You should save that ribbon for next year.”

James looked up, grinning.

“Why wait that long? I bought an entire spool of it. It’s still the holiday season, and I’m feeling very merry indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- While penguins do not get their mates the “perfect rock” (a popular meme on twitter and facebook), more than one species does use rocks to build nests and it is part of courtship behaviors to give a mate a pebble  
> \- Sir John Henry Lefroy was a scientist in the 1800s who studied terrestrial magnetism. His name is on one of the books in Francis’ cabin. According to a source I found (yeah, yeah, on the internet, and this is for a smutty Christmas fic so veracity was not my highest priority, but also I’m not sure who would fabricate stories about scientists studying magnetism in the Victorian era), Lefroy was dispatched to Canada to conduct experiments, including taking observations at more than 300 stations. At one location, they took observations every hour, and up to every two minutes during high magnetic disturbances (whatever that means). Step up your magnetic readings game, Fitzjames. That is a real title of one of Lefroy’s books.  
> \- Thank you so much to everyone who’s been reading, everyone on Twitter, and Kami especially for helping me workshop ideas and for suggestions  
> \- Come find me on twitter (kiingbooooo, two i’s), we’ve got a nice little Terror thing going!


End file.
